


Yellow's questions

by green3t3r



Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Webseries)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, Gen, Light Angst, One Shot, Short One Shot, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23576992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green3t3r/pseuds/green3t3r
Summary: Yellow doesn't ask questions about June Nineteenth.
Relationships: Duck & Red Guy & Yellow Guy (Don't Hug Me I'm Scared), Duck/Red Guy (Don't Hug Me I'm Scared)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	Yellow's questions

Yellow woke up, and yawned.

Yellow learned not to ask questions about June Nineteenth. He just stuck to what he knew, desperately keeping the facts, the things he could trust as close as possible to him.

Yellow knew that June Nineteenth wasn’t a place, wasn’t a day, it was something else. An on going cycle that he was trapped in, never being able to escape.

Yellow knew that June Nineteenth hurt. It hurt him when Green was not creative enough, it hurt him when time was stretched on, and his skin melted, his ears bled. It hurt when he was tied to chairs in the sky and the people sung too loud. Too loud. It really hurt when his stomach felt it was going to burst, and he was afraid and lonely and cold.

Yellow knew that his Dad was here. He din't like his Dad very much.

Yellow wasn’t completely alone in June nineteenth though. He had his friends, Red and Duck. Duck cleaned him up when he was too dirty, when blood stained his clothes. His gentle hands knew to take care with his broken body. Broken mind. Red was serious, he talked of leaving June Nineteenth, escaping it. When Red did talk of such things, he stared off into space with an expressionless look in his eyes, a look that would frighten Yellow. And Duck would sigh and lead Red towards bed, saying he needed rest.

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_Yellow dangled his legs on off the table, swinging them backwards and forwards as Duck brushed his hair, humming along. It was on nights like these after a bad lesson, one where the teachers hurt him and had sung too loud or gotten angry, when Duck played with his hair gently and seemed to look at him with more worry in his eyes than ever. Yellow didn’t mind, he knew that tomorrow Duck would be back to normal and making toast, whacking Red on the arm with a book, exclaiming, “Language!” and to Yellow, “Never to repeat!” what Red had said. Yellow would laugh._

_On this night Red abruptly stood, and walked over to the window._

_“Red? What’s wrong, love?” Duck asked. Red exhaled loudly._

_“We could leave you know.” Red spoke, in a monotone voice. Yellow felt the brush in his hair stop._

_“I don’t think-“ Duck started._

_“Escape. We could escape this,” Red gestured vaguely around. “We could get away- find peace and- and- Oh I don’t know.” Red said. He stared into the distance, unseeing._

_Yellow frowned. Duck sighed. “Come on dear. You just need sleep. A good night’s sleep always makes you feel better, doesn’t it Yellow?”_

_Yellow didn’t speak. He just nodded. Duck made a pleased sound, happy that someone was seeing sense._

_“Come now, dear.” Duck spoke gently, leading Red away from the window. He pulled him through the Kitchen door towards the Bedroom._

_Yellow still sat on the table, but his legs had stop swinging._

_Everything would be fine._

_“You too Yellow- Sleep for everyone!” Duck called from the next room. He got up and followed them._

_Everything would be fine._

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But Red and Duck cared about him, they were friends. Family, even. That was more than what his Dad had ever been to him.

Yellow rolled out of his bed, and got dressed slowly. In the same outfit he had been wearing for- for- he didn’t even know. How long had he been in June Nineteenth? How many lessons had he seen? How many songs had he sung? Not knowing how he knew these lyrics and how he was singing them? Why he was singing them?

Questions, questions. Too many questions. Yellow shouldn’t ask questions. Questions mean lessons, and lessons mean pain. Yellow walked into the kitchen, sitting down by Duck and Red, trying to ignore the calendar with June Nineteenth on it. Trying to.

“What’s your favourite idea?”

Yellow looked down at the notebook which had begun singing.

Oh, _no_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, if you did.  
> I don't own DHMIS.  
> -goldfish


End file.
